An Unlikely Trio
by Tobi is a good boy
Summary: Gimli has been sent to trade with Dale by his father. However, he is waylaid by an unlikely thief and aided by an certain cursed Elfing prince. Together this unlikely trio must warn Dale of the danger that is coming before it is too late. Rated T. An AU 'Three Hunters' fic.
1. Obstinate Creatures and Stubborn Dwarves

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own Lord of the Rings

Thanks to Veilfire Runes for prompt.

ONE: OBSTINATE CREATURES AND STUBBORN DWARVES

The donkey would not move.

A young dwarf tugged at the weathered rope with large hands that betrayed their small stature. The length of the rope was tethered to the obstinate donkey, who would not be forced to move despite the dwarf's best efforts. The donkey was shouldered with carefully wrapped parcels and a travelling pack. Like most of their race, the dwarf was the height of a child just before they reached manhood, broad shouldered and heavily muscled arms.

There seemed to be no distinction within dwarves between those who were male and those who were female, though the females seemed to be rarer than the males according to the stories that he had read in what seemed a lifetime ago. Regardless, both genders were known to be fierce fighters and proficient with both axe and mace.

He would have to be careful if he was the succeed.

A well-made hunting axe was strung off the dwarf's intricate woven leather belt. Although it was a hunting axe, it would still provide some protection outside the more heavily guarded cities, towns, and villages. One, even a trained warrior like himself, had to be careful in the wild places, where foul creatures of darkness roamed unchecked and bandits or thieves preyed on the unsuspecting or unwary traveller. The world was slowly darkening as each year passed, a world with little hope and a life that was equally harsh.

Although, he could not name himself a thief or bandit, just someone that simply took advantages where they could be taken. It was what was necessary to survive.

Strider lowered himself further onto on the ground, avoiding the thick, spiny branches of gorse until he reached the forested edge which overlooked both donkey and dwarf. His well-worn travel cloak and skills taught to him many years ago in the art of disguise and concealment allowed him to completely disappear within the dense undergrowth. He shook the thought of his past out from his mind, returning his focus back towards the dwarf and donkey.

Not that it would have mattered much, for the dwarf was so engrossed with attempting to drag the donkey down the steep path that clung to the hillside. On the other side of the path was a deep ravine that led, eventually, to the valley floor. The ravine was covered by plants that somehow, managed to cling to the side. A river traced its slow path through the valley and disappeared beyond Strider's sight. Below Strider, the donkey flared and gritted its yellowing teeth, digging its hooves into the steep gravel path.

"Come on," the dwarf muttered loudly, wiping the thin sheen of sweat that had gathered off their brow and onto their sleeve. Like Strider, the dwarf wore simple leather armour that covered a blue tunic and soft brown leggings tucked into boots. The leather shoulder pauldron declared them to belong to the so called 'Lonely Mountain,' the heart of the dwarven kingdom. His simple clothing declared him to be a tradesman, or perhaps a smith, not a princeling.

But that was not what interested Strider so much in this one dwarf. Despite their short, reddish beard that clung to their chin, he could tell that this dwarf was not yet a true warrior, for they had not yet earned the testament of their prowess by way of a warrior's braid. Strider had one that curved around his ear, braided long ago by his mother after his first skirmish with a roaming orc band. It had, of course, grown since then, but he could still remember his mother's soft touch as she twisted his hair into a braid fit for a warrior. So not only did his target have the transport Strider desired, but it would not require as much skill to steal the donkey and continue, unheeded down the hillside path.

Above, the afternoon sun shone hotly down, directly onto his back.

Strider did not move, despite the heat, the perspiration running slowly down his neck. Even the soft breeze did not reach the undergrowth, the rustle of the leaves would cover his movements.

This hunt required patience.

Eventually, the dwarf gave up on their futile attempts to physically drag the donkey further down the hillside. They sighed in clear frustration, kneeling in front of the donkey, as if in prayer.

Strider recognised his chance, knocking an arrow expertly to the small, compact bow that he had used since leaving his childhood home. The bow had served him well, but had worn with the use that he had put it through in recent months. He had used the feathers that he had found upon the floor of the forest to string his arrows, lest he anger the wizard who was known to bring his wrath down on those who harmed any creature within. To this effect, he had only hunted creatures who were close to death or ones that had been caught in the cruel metal traps left by hunters.

Below, the donkey turned its head towards him, a white star upon the creature's dark forehead, as if to accuse Strider.

"I'm talking to a donkey." The dwarf lent their head against the donkey's flank, "Gimli, son of Gloin, talking to a donkey."

With practised ease, Strider let the arrow fly. It sung in the air, landing a few centimetres shy of the donkey's hoof and the kneeling, prone dwarf.

Like he expected, the appearance of an arrow caused the donkey to panic, pushing the dwarf out of its path as Gimli tried to stand, reaching for the axe on his belt. However, the dwarf would prove to slow for Strider's sudden attack.

Strider leapt down, timing the moment so that he landed on the terrified donkey's back, gripping the creature tightly with his powerful muscles. The carefully packaged parcels and travel pack fell off the donkey as it ran wildly.

He turned, waving a hand to the red-faced dwarf. "Thanks for the ride!" He called aloud, allowing the feeling of exhilaration to fill his veins once more. A wide grin formed on his face, as the wind whipped in his hair.

Behind Strider, the dwarf's face grew a deep shade of red, matching the fiery colour of his hair. He shouted dwarfish curse that if Strider knew the meaning it would be sure to turn his own mother blue in her grave. With a heft of the dwarf's muscled arms, Gimli threw the axe towards both man and beast.

Strider watched the axe in horrified fascination as it arched in the blue sky and landed on the remnant of the dangling rope trailing behind the donkey. With a shuddering, painful jolt, the creature came to an eventual halt as the rope tightened suddenly on its thick neck, it nostrils flaring in anger as it attempted to pull away from the grip of the axe. The dwarf's aim had been true, and rather impressively accurate. The momentum, however, had caused Strider to fly forwards and sprawl undignifiedly upon the stony path.

The crunch of gravel signalled the slow but steady approach of the dwarf.

"You!" Strider heard the low growl within the dwarf's deep voice. "Thief!"

Despite the ache within his muscles from the sudden jolt, Strider forced himself to roll upwards. His body protested the movement, but his will took over, allowing him to move. The handle of the axe gleamed in the bright sunlight. The runes etched onto the handle seemed to glow in the light. Planted beside it was the dwarf, Gimli, his blue eyes directed in obvious fury towards Strider.

The dwarf's short legs would never be able to make this distance quick enough.

A few metres away was the donkey, its eyes rolling, digging its hooves into the path to free itself, only to be choked on the rope still tethered around its neck.

Quickly, Strider rolled forwards until he could almost touch the donkey and the rope around its neck. He had to avoid the missiles of pebbles flying from the donkey's hooves to reach the rope and donkey.

The donkey turned its head, locking its dark eyes with Strider momentarily. Strider grinned slowly, moving the rope one inch at a time with nimble finger. The creature did not look pleased in the least, staring down with its unfathomable eyes.

The dwarf was closing in.

He had to act quickly.

At that precise moment, the donkey snapped at Strider's unprotected wrist, wrapping its jaw around.

"Let go!" He groaned towards the donkey, "Don't you see I'm trying to help!"

Behind him, the dwarf laughed shortly. It echoed within the quiet landscape, down the hill into the ravine and the valley below. It seemed too quiet, but Strider's mind did not register it as his attention was drawn to the furious, approaching dwarf.

"She's not too fond of others, thief."

Turning his head, Strider glared openly. He could not free himself from the donkey's jaws, so he was trapped at the dwarf's mercy. At this level, they were roughly of the same height, so their eyes met in a furious clash of anger.

"So, why is a man trying to steal my donkey?"

"I was not stealing your donkey…. just borrowing," He protested rather weakly, his concise attempting to make him feel guilty for all his wrongdoings.

 _Get a hold of yourself!_

"Silence!" Demanded the dwarf, breaking Strider's chain of thought, "I will not listen to someone who is clearly both a thief and a liar. I will take you to Dale and there you will see what judgement lies for you."

Strider stared at the dwarf, who intent and truth of his words were clear from his steadfast eyes. He was about to speak when a rumble came from above.

A war horn sounded in the distance.

The sound of it rumbled throughout the land, sending both bird and beast flying. Above, ravens flew, squealing and squawking warnings to any animal left below. The forest trembled at the sound.

He knew that war horn. It had sounded across his childhood and through his manhood.

There was no forgetting that war horn, or the horrors that it signalled: destruction to all life. Strider could almost taste the fire and smell the stink of orc flesh.

Gimli's eyes scanned the surroundings, a gleam lighting within them. He had heard the ravens' warnings, but he stood his ground upon the hillside path.

"Gimli!" Strider panted, his wrist still caught, "Free me! You cannot fight that alone!"

Gimli replied with a shout above the din of noise: "If you think I could trust you, thief, I will not!"

"That's madness!"

The war horn sounded once more, causing the path to shake beneath their feet. The forest rumbled ominously and a cascade of pebbles fell onto the path. There was a sharp crack which made a jagged line within the rock, racing towards man, beast, and dwarf. The rock shifted and cracked before the trio could react, casting them into the depths of the ravine and towards certain death.


	2. The Strangeness of Man

An Unlikely Trio

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own LOTR

Thanks to Veilfire Runes for prompt

TWO: THE STRANGENESS OF MAN

Strider awoke to a headache, and the lingering echo of the war horns pounding within his mind. The forest was dark and there was no sign of either donkey, dwarf or orc. It took a couple of moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, so he lay still, listening to the sounds of the trees creaking in the wind. Owls hooted once or twice, but he could not hear the heavy footsteps of orcs, which was good. The tumble had perhaps allowed for them to avoid the orcs.

Once his eyes adjusted, he quickly reoriented himself, realising that the collapse of the path had sent him much further down the ravine than he expected.

The rope.

The damned rope that was around the stubborn donkey's neck had saved his life, caught on an outcrop of rocks.

He pushed himself upwards, ignoring the stiffness of his limbs. If he had stopped here, the dwarf would be likely to be nearby. After assessing that the fall had not done anything significant apart from a few bruises, Strider began to scan the area, taking the rope with him.

A glimmer of blue told him that the dwarf was close.

He cautiously approached, as the last time that they had met, the dwarf had been furious. But there was no sound from the dwarf, in fact, he was unconscious.

"Eru," swore Strider, running now towards the dwarf. Closer, Strider could see that the dwarf had broken a leg, and that his thigh had been slashed open by a sharp branch. Dried blood pooled at the wound.

He could not leave the dwarf, alone, in the forest.

Could he?

There was a chance that the dwarf would die, if he did. Strider knew that if anything, he could not leave the dwarf to die. He was not ready to allow an innocent person to die because of his mistakes.

First, the leg would need to be set, and the wound bound. There were clean strips of linen in his pack-damn-that was also lost, along with Strider's supply of healing herbs. It was dark, but not yet completely dark.

Shelter and water, then.

The ground here was moist, with a few outcrops of rock. There likely was to be a stream leading down from the mountainsides into the valley itself.

Strider fashioned the rope to hold the dwarf so that way he remained secure on his back and began to make his way carefully down the ravine, following the path of the trees and rocks and clung to it's side, every so often feeling the ground below for moisture. Once he was certain that he had found the route towards a stream, he turned to follow it, the night becoming darker and darker.

Water trickled ahead, splattering against rocks. He had found a stream and a cave. Normally, he would examine the cave more thoroughly (after Gandalf's many lectures upon the subject), but exhaustion had settled into his bones, and Gimli looked even more pale. So, he set down his burden, and began to light a fire.

"STRANGE FOR A MAN," said a voice. Strider froze and began to turn as the voice continued, "To carry a dwarf upon his back. And to enter my cave and begin to set a fire without so much as a 'thank you.' I could light it for you, you know, you only have to ask."

"Please," Strider found himself saying, staring into the eyes of a dragon, "If you don't mind."

There was a whoosh of intake and then a burst of white flame as it hit the wood.


	3. A Cowardly Dragon

An Unlikely Trio

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own LOTR

Thanks to Veilfire Runes for the prompt

THREE: A COWARDLY DRAGON

There was a noise at the front of his cave.

 _Who?_

He shuffled on his belly, the scales itching on the cool ground below. He nose told him- a man and a Dwarf.

 _Curious,_ he thought, and decided to investigate. It had been so long since he had seen anyone-or had been out of his cave-or felt the sunshine or the wind. It was rather boring, being holed up in one place, with nothing intresting or no one interesting to speak too.

Up from his chamber (if one could call it that, it was more hole than chamber), he slithered, taking the twisting paths upwards, up and up until the sunlight and fresh air beckoned. But he could not get out, even if he wanted. Well, he could, but he was more ashamed than anything.

After adusting his eyes (with furious blinking), he could see more clearly. There was indeed a man in his cave.

A man. The man was tall, scruffy, wearing garb that matched into the forest. He strongly suspected a thief-until he rembered there was nothing of value in his little cave, expect perhaps that it was his. But his nose told him there was a Dwarf as well.

The man turned, and there was the Dwarf upon his back. Panting, the man carefully settled the Dwarf upon the floor of HIS cave.

There it was-the tang of blood. It fleetingly touched his lips. He could not-he must not. He stretched against the walls of the cave, humming in his throat. The whole cave rumbled, as the man quickly set to his buisness. The man went to go gather wood, and came back quickly, and was begining to light a fire.

"STRANGE FOR A MAN," he said, before clearing his throat. He forgot that he was louder now. The man turned, and looked at him with utter horror. He decided to continue. It was not like he was going to eat the man. There was plenty of good food about. So, he continued. "To carry a dwarf upon his back. And to enter my cave and begin to set a fire without so much as a 'thank you.' I could light it for you,you know, you only have to ask."

"Please," whispered the man in a tiny voice, "if you don't mind."

He stood on his hind quarters, sucking in his great chest and blew: flames burst forth from his jaw, lighting the wood.

Once the fire was properly lit, he crawled forward, warming his scales. Meanwhile, the man continued to stare as he did.

"I thought all the dragons were dead," the man said.

"Well, clearly not," replied he replied, flicking his tall with a great thump. "What brings you and your dwarf companion to my cave?"

The man looked into the fire, his grey eyes flickering with the flames. "There were orcs on the road."

"Orcs?" He reared up, his large teeth shining.

"You have no love for orcs?" asked the man.

"No, I do not have a love for orcs." He thought for a moment. "Very well. You may stay in my cave. I shall guard you from the orcs for the moment, until the dwarf is better."

At that, the dwarf stirred. Both he and the man glanced over, the man's brow pinched with worry. The leg was bandaged tightly.

"Did orcs do that?" He asked.

"No," the man replied, "I did. We-" He hung his head, "I was trying to steal his donkey."

He gave a great mighty chuckle, the rocks shaking as he did so. "So, you are now trying to save the life of someone you were, just moments ago, trying to steal from. Let me see his wounds, manling. I may be able to help."

The man looked suspiciously at him. "And why would you do that?"

"I have no love of orcs, as I told you, and I also owe a debt."

So the man unwound the dressing, exposing the deep cut in the Dwarf's thigh. He took a deep breath-yes, the wound had stopped bleeding, but it was still clogged with debris and dirt. He pressed his nose into the wound and willed it to heal.


	4. Of Dragons and Glyphs

An Unlikely Trio

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own Lord of the Rings or any works of JRR Tolkien

Chapter 4: Of Dragons and Glyphs

The Dragon could remember a time before the cramped, wet cave. One where the sunshine was on his face and the wind roared and blew through the trees and what a feeling that was! He could remember this, but only through a hazy fog, as if the memory was smaller somehow. His eyes of course, could see many more hues than the mortal man who was huddled in front of the fire, flames twisting and crawling over the stone. The man every so often stood, checking upon his Dwarven companion (not matter how many times that he protested that this was not the case).

The sun, red and glowing, was setting below the hill, dark swiftly following behind. The Dragon unfurled his wings, knowing that he had seen sunsets, many sunsets like this as if in a long-lost dream. The last embers of sunshine touched the edge of the cave, warming his face.

Suddenly, he felt something like an ancient memory awakening from slumber.

There was a time where The Dragon had watched a sunset like this, except he was standing on top of a tree, looking up the sweeping hills of trees and the looming presence of the Lonely Mountain. His keen eyes were watching the forest floor below, looking, looking for something.

There! There was the memory!

Down below on the forest floor walked a peddler, carrying a satchel of his goods.

The Dragon had quickly scrambled down.

"Good day, friend," greeted the peddler. He was a tall man, with greying hair that fell down below his shoulders and frayed robes and worn shoes. His teeth were wide-set and black.

"What is your business?" The Dragon had growled in reply.

"To sell my wares in the Woodland Realm and to see Thranduil King."

The Dragon sniffed, scrutinizing once more the peddler's wares. It looked no more than trinkets and left-over junk. In fact, it was just junk, this he was sure of.

"Ha!" He laughed at the peddler. "What would Thranduil King want with your trinkets? Be gone!"

The peddler sighed, sitting on a rock, rubbing his heels. "I have come a long way," he simply said.

"Then you have come for naught! Walk on, friend, and try the Laketown market."

"Well, if I cannot sell my wares, perhaps you would let me come and take some rest in your halls. All I ask is a warm fire, and maybe some bread! Then I can speak to Thranduil King."

"And what would you have to say to a king, peddler?" The Dragon replied haughtily.

The peddler rubbed his chin, looking very thoughtful.

"A lot, and a little."

"A lot and a little!" The Dragon laughed, "I think more on the little side." He grabbed the peddler's arm, lifting him from his perch with ease. "There are no places for peddlers here!" And the Dragon pushed the peddler back onto the road towards the direction of Laketown.

The peddler walked on, down the forest road and away.

It was only a few hours later when a pony came galloping upon the road. The Dragon's green eyes narrowed.

A dwarf, with the sign of The Lonely Mountain emblazoned on his tunic, wiped his forehead. He was an older dwarf, his battle braids firmly tied into place and beard waxed and braided as well. Still, he stank of sweat and of long travel.

"Message!" He panted.

"Let me take it and relay it then."

The dwarf shook his head, "It must be taken to Thranduil King personally."

"I cannot allow that," said the Dragon.

The dwarf shook his head. "And I cannot tell you my message! At least let me rest, and take some bread and warmth of your fire."

"No!" The Dragon roared. How dare a Dwarf, of all creatures, ask that! "The Law does not allow it." And that was true. The Law did not allow it.

"The Law?" The Dwarf raised an eyebrow, "The Law does not permit kindness to strangers?"

The Dragon sniffed, "It is the Law," he simply said. "Why not give me the message instead and be on your way."

At this the Dwarf coloured red with anger. "I must take it to Thranduil-personally!"

"Why not?"

"Be-cause! You are not Thranduil!"

The Dragon laughed. "Yes I am not Thranduil. But I am a Prince and I demand you tell me your message!"

The dwarf suddenly laughed. "You cannot demand anything from me!" Suddenly both horse and dwarf transfigured.

In front of the Dragon was a young man, with black robes and long black hair. The man's eyes were dark and still, but a deep fire burned in them. The robes swirled with patterns of stars and moons, far more complex than any star charts that the Dragon had seen before. They glittered in the light.

"I am the Witch-King, silly Elfing!"

The Dragon roared at that.

"You are selfish and unkind."  
"I am-"

"Do not try and deny your nature to me!" Cried the Witch-King, his eyes terrible to behold. The stars of his robes flashed.

"I curse you, Prince! Until you do something selfless and king, you will be shown to the world as you truly are!"

A powerful magic enveloped the Dragon, burning, burning into his skin.

He could feel it even now, in the cave. The feeling blossomed down the Dragon's libs and through his claws, like golden fire unveiling a flower underneath. Talons became feet, scales became skin and the monstrous form of the Dragon became that of a dishevelled looking Elf.

Tattooed over the Elf's nut brown, sun worn skin were glyphs and runs that swirled into a pattern of a Dragon.

"I'm back," pronounced the Elf, with a voice that was as rough as sandpaper.


	5. A Dragon, A Man and A Dwarf

An Unlikely Trio

I do not own the Lord of the Rings or any works of JRR Tolkien

Chapter Five: A Dragon, A Dwarf, and a Man

The Elf's eyes met the Man's. The Man flushed, bright red, looking away. The Elf looked down-he was standing, stark naked, in a cave, in front of a stranger-no, two strangers, if he counted the unconscious Dwarf.

"Who are you?" He shrieked at the Man.

"Who are you?! Where…where is the Dragon? Wait… _you're_ the Dragon!"

"Dragon?" asked the Elf, feeling a chill going down his spine.

"Giant flame producing lizard thing with wings?" The man pumped his arms up and down for emphasis.

"What?" The Elf looked around, confused. His eyes took in his surroundings. The dark cave, the light of the glowing sunset. It all came back in a huge rush. He sat down on the floor with a great sigh. "So, nothing has changed."

"What is going on," asked the man, "What do you mean?"

The Elf looked dejectedly through the tangle of his hair towards the man, gazing at the tattooed ink on his hands.

There was a name, a name on the tip of his- on the tip of his.

"Tongue," said the Elf, finally, aloud.

Luckily for him the Man did not laugh, his serious face became perhaps even more serious than before.

"Your name is Tongue?"

"No," the Elf shook his head. "Legolas. My name is Legolas."

The Man across the fire looked astounded once more. "Thranduil's lost son! Why the whole of Mirkwood is looking for you! Even Elrond's sons-"

A haughty, dragon-esque look came across Legolas's face.

"And what does a lowly man know of Thranduil and Elrond's sons" His eyes flashed momentarily golden, reflecting the firelight.

The Man was silent for a moment, his face pinched. " And what about an Elf that turns into a Dragon?"

Legolas turned his head away at that "That Dwarf…"

The Man almost moved protectively towards the sleeping Dwarf, his hand hovering above the handle of his knife.

"It was the memory of a Dwarf that woke me, I think. Well, he did not really turn out to be a Dwarf in the end, but nevertheless I think just seeing one awakened something of a memory, and the memory has broken the spell…for a while…" The Elf stood, went for a chest hidden behind a crack within the stone, and withdrew some clothes. "He will heal, I think. You have been taught well."

Legolas came and sat by the fire, warming his hands and feet. "Now, tell me about those Orcs."

x

It was dark when Gimli awoke, his hand instantaneously went to his axe-but it was nowhere to be found.

 _That thief!_ He thought angrily, scowling at his new surroundings.

He was at the mouth of a cave where the thief and an Elf huddled over a fire, their faces grim in the were-light. The smell of meat cooking wafted through the air. Despite himself, Gimli's stomach rumbled, but luckily not so loud as to be heard by the strangers in the cave.

He lifted his head, vision swimming briefly before righting himself completely.

"What-what is the meaning of this, thief?" He growled, but it came out in a thin rasp.

"Peace, Dwarf," the Elf cried, dressed in loss torn garments of the Woodland realm. Tattoos of runes peaked out on the skin that was not covered. "Put behind your old disagreements- can you not see that the one you called a thief has brought you here, healed you and provided shelter? Alas, there are more foul things afoot here!"

Suddenly, Gimli remembered- the Orc horn and the terrible tumble down the hill. He would have certainly been grievously injured or found by the orcs if it were not for the thief.

He held out his hand towards the Man in a gesture of peace. The Man took it, shaking with a rather firm grip.

"I must warn Dale!" He cried, his purpose renewed, making to turn out of the cave. A hand stopped him- the thief's.

"Even the most stout hearted Dwarf could not get to Dale in time."

Gimli sniffed, stubbornly. "I am Gimli! Son of Gloin! By Khazad I shall warn Dale."

The Elf looked thoughtful by this outburst. "Perhaps we need not warn Dale, Gimli, son of Gloin. I am called Legolas."

"Legolas?! Thranduil- Thranduil accused us of kidnapping you, yet here you are in a cave! Why is a Prince of the Woodland realm sitting in a cave? Calling on the Woodland folk would not help, even if their Prince did call. They are too far way, and besides, they would not hear our plea as they think the Dwarves are your captors."

Legolas shook his head. "It is probably because the Guard saw me speaking to a Dwarf before…" He fell short of his explanation. "But perhaps we three could scare them. Make them think there is a great band of warriors. Thus, give more time to warn Dale."

"And we could learn more of their numbers and purpose here," added the thief, "I am called Strider, Gimli. Well met and pardon for my behaviour before- as Legolas says, there was worse things than thieves."

"Little chance of success, possible or likely chance of defeat." Gimli slapped his thighs. "I like those odds."

So it was that a Dragon, a Man and a Dwarf began to set out their plans as the dark deepened around them.


	6. Rousing in the Dark

An Unlikely Trio

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own the works of JRR Tolkien

Chapter 6: Rousing in the Dark

The moon was high when the trio left the cave, the man with a notched sword, the Elf with a well-used short bow and Gimli with an axe. The forest was silent, the shadows enveloped the three unlikely companions. Strider's hands occasionally dropped down to the ground, a gleam in his dark brown eyes and he would leap suddenly forward, pointing out a path ahead that Gimli could not discern. Strider suddenly stopped, positioning himself in the crook of a willow tree. Legolas must also have seen whatever the man had, so he pulled Gimli quickly aside into the deeper shadow of the trees.

"Yrch," the Elf swore under his breath.

It was then that Gimli smelt the fire, and the unnatural tang of sweat that orcs seemed to emit wherever they went.

"Ready?" mouthed Strider.

The other two companions nodded, Legolas plunging into the forest in the opposite direction, climbing with his long limbs up the trees, leaping from branch to branch. There was a sound of a hooting owl, which was the signal that Legolas was in position.

Gimli plucked up his courage.

He was Gimli. Son of Gloin. He would bring honour to clan and to Erebor.

He began to chant, his breath hitching at the start but growing, growing like the roots of a tree taking hold.

It filled the silent forest, rushing and reverberating around him and the forest, sending beast and bird flying out from their hiding places.

Gimli thudded his axe in time with his chant, the smashing of echoing and echoing, ominously surging through the forest:

"Baruk! Khazad! Khazad ai menu! Baruk! Kazad ai menu!"

Beside him, Strider stood as still as the tall tree that he was hiding in. He began to chant as well, in a higher, softer tone, but just as strong.

Then, from Legolas's direction, there was an almighty roar that deafened even Gimli's chant. Gimli was rather impressed, being taught in the Dwarfish way of war-chanting, but this roar was even greater than his teachers, who could send his voice a league away.

Orcs stumbled towards them, frightened out their wits, sweat streaming from their greenish skin, scimtars and thin swords flashing in the dim light. Gimli slashed whilst Strider swiped and cleaved, cutting down orcs with steadfast purpose.

All the sudden, the orc horn rallied, blowing clear. The orcs who were running away-some turned back, brining those who would not turn back by force with them, lashing their arms.

Strider signalled to Gimli to start advancing after them, moving swiftly from tree to tree, blending in so easily that Gimli almost forgot that the man was there.

Gimli hefted his axe, the adrenaline beginning to lessen, and he could feel his old wounds, but he puffed his way up the hill, holding his axe tight. He would not have it said that Men were harder than Dwarves!

The three companions met again just before a dell, where the stink of the orc camp rose, and the light of the fire could be seen. Legolas hissed, for the orcs lit the fire without care or thought of the forest. His bow twitched in his hand, ready to be used again.

"Not yet," whispered Strider.

The orcs were now gathering around in a circle. The fire splayed across their hideous faces.

"Should we go back t' the big train- warn 'em?"

"NO!" Bellowed the leader, one dressed in leather arm, and the easily the largest of the group. "We are the scouts. We stay here- I'm not afraid of any man-" He added, "-Or Dwarf!"

Strider nearly grinned at this. "We are getting somewhere-this here is just a scouting party, so the larger main party cannot be far."

There was a rustle and a creak of branches behind them. The three grasped their weapons.

A huge bear, the largest Gimli had ever seen, looked balefully at them. The bear, obviously a male, had a white star on his forehead, and his fur, though magnificent, was starting to grey.

The bear nodded towards the camp as if to say 'come on then!' and then released a huge, loud growl and shook the trees around them.

"Khazad!" Shouted Gimli, invigorated by their new, unusual (if one did not count the Dragon-Legolas, but Gimli did not yet know that) and darted down into the dell, the others following behind, out of safety and into the danger of battle.


	7. Changelings

An Unlikely Trio

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own Lord of the Rings or works of JRR Tolkien

Chapter Seven: Changelings

The four companions ran down into the dell, the great bear leading the charge. Trees sighed in the wind, the ground trembling underneath at their charge.

Legolas's arrows singed in the air ahead of them, hitting orcs here and there with deadly efficiency. Strider's sword flashed in the moonlight, biting deeply into orc-flesh.

Gimli swung his axe, cutting off the head of an orc in a swift arc, a smile upon his face.

His heart pounded loudly within his chest.

"Khazad!" He yelled as he smashed and slashed his way down the dell, blood splattering over his tunic.

This was what he had trained for!

Battle!

The circle of orcs was lessening, their fear clear upon their faces. The trees leaned inwards, twisting around the edge of the dell.

The orcs were outnumbered.

The leader gripped his scimitar, but before he could raise it the great bear swatted it away with a paw, killing him instantly with a powerful blow.

The bear roared in triumph, scattering the remaining orcs back, back into the depths of the forest.

"Leave them!" Strider pressed Gimli back from running after them.

"What? And let them be?" Gimli hissed, gripping the handle of his axe tighter. "Not this night!"

Strider puffed, his breath coming out in steam. "Their tracks will lead us to the main camp."

"He's right," added Legolas, watching the edges of the forest around them. His keen eyes could see farther than all of them.

Gimli sighed, hefting his axe back into place upon his back. "Fine," he huffed.

Around them, the sliver of moonlight began to fill the dell with a silver glow. The great bear growled, his fur rippling under the light. Skin, dark skin began to be revealed.

Suddenly, instead of a bear, there was a tall man, taller than Strider, towering over Gimli. Scars littered over the man's body. He stood, unashamed in the moonlight. Muscles gleamed all over the man's hairy body. His skin was darker, darker than any man that Gimli had ever seen.

"Rwr – good done work," the man worked his jaw for a moment, "Good work has been done tonight." From the ground, he picked up one of the orc's jerkins and wrapped it around his giant waist like a kilt.

"Who are you?" Gimli's fingers itched at the hilt of his throwing axe.

"Peace, Dwarfling!"

Gimli bristled at that – he may be young, but he was not a dwarfling. His face coloured brightly.

"I am called many things. Master of Forest and The Great Bear. Many names! But I prefer no great titles. You may call me Beron."

"Beron?" Legolas strode towards the man, "Beron the Changeling?"

The great man turned towards Legolas, "Ah, did you not see me a changing then?" He then observed the dell, the remains of the strewn orc camp. "But yet here…strange things abound this night!"

Legolas frowned, "What do you mean?"

Beron's eyes lighted on Legolas' tattoos, but he said nothing. "Come, you three, to the House of Beron! Rewards to be had for companions!" With that, he strode out of the dell, through the thick of the forest.

Gimli looked at his companions, "Do ye trust him?" He muttered, once Beron was out of hearing range.

"Beron?" Legolas pondered for a moment, tightening the string on his bow. "He is with us, for now. That is good enough for me." He strode forward, easily catching up with Beron.

Strider smiled, sheathing his sword, "Good food and a warmth hearth! That is good enough for me!" Away Strider went, into the dark of the wood.

Soon, Gimli was alone in the dell, the moonlight around him.

Unease set into his heart.

He shook his head, keeping his hand nearby the throwing axes and delved upwards, into the depths.


	8. Shadows of Mind

An Unlikely Trio

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own Lord of the Rings

Chapter Eight: Shadows of Mind

They wound through the grey-silver twilight, trees tangled tightly together as they pressed onwards, further from the cave and into the dense forest. Ahead, Beorn led the way, his strong arms easily swatting aside vines for Legolas, Strider and Gimli to pass.

His sharp teeth grinned down at Gimli. "Not far!" He growled.

Gimli replied with a carefully concocted smile of his own.

" _Always trust your gut. And your feet, lad."_

 _His father smiled wistfully as he lit a pipe, inhaling deeply, before passing it to him. Gimli took the pipe carefully, holding it like a trophy in his hands. It was a rite – passing a pipe down to one's son – a rite when one was about to become a fully-fledged member of the clan, not just a child anymore. The pipe was carved from a single piece of an oak tree, a simple affair compared to the many pipes that Gimli had seen other dwarves with. It was scarred with many knocks here and there. No doubts from the many adventures his father had when he was young._

Gimli returned his thoughts to the present, eyeing the huge presence of Beorn ahead. His gut was telling him that something was not right. His feet…

" _My feet, father?"_

 _Gloin turned, his deep brown eyes boring into Gimli's. His had wrinkles around the eyes, some of laughter and some of sorrow. "Yes, lad, I learnt that on my own journey…"_

 _Ah._

 _Here was Gimli's favourite tale, of the Company of Thirteen and of Thorin Oakenshield._

 _He sat up straighter._

" _You never know where your feet will lead, but they're usually never wrong, Mr. Bilbo would say…"_

They were telling him that they were straying into dangerous, more wild territory. He could almost hear the scuttle of spiders but told himself that it was all his imagination. He was thinking too much about his father's own time in the forest, and how it nearly led to disaster.

Yes, that was it.

Gimli strode onwards, keeping his ears, eyes and his feet open to anything unusual. Well, more unusual than being rescued by a man who could become a bear and being friends with an Elf who could become a dragon.

Ahead, both Legolas and Strider seemed unperturbed, striding ahead with confidence. Gimli pretended to stop, leaning on his axe.

Immediately, Strider was next to him, a worried look in his eye. "Is it your wounds?"

Gimli had almost completely forgot about his wounds – his fall seemed like months ago. Yes, his body did ache from that, and from recent battle too. He took a great gulp of breath, careful to whisper, "Do you not think it strange that Beorn leads us through such wild paths? And so far into the forest?"

Strider shrugged his slim shoulders, "He is a wild creature as well, and perhaps that is in his nature. He says we are close yet. Have faith!" He leapt ahead, closing in behind Legolas and Beorn.

So, Gimli shouldered his axe, puffing up the hill as the vanguard behind his odd companions, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

The trees leaned in towards them, whipping across Gimli's face, tangling at his boots as they climbed up a steep incline. Ahead, the trees looked as if they were thinning.

Suddenly, far ahead, there was a cry. It sounded like Legolas.

Gimli hurriedly hefted his axe, running up the crest.

He was immediately trapped by some sort of invisible web, as some force lifted him off the ground.

"A man…a dwarf…and two changelings," said a voice that was as sharp as a knife, cutting through the air.

Both Legolas and Strider were held by the same invisible force, struggling against it, but to no avail.

They were on a slab on black stone that stretched for miles around Gimli, black trees rising around them to form a circle.

In a cage at the centre, was a bear, the same bear that rescued them. It gave a roar, clawing at the cage at the sight of the three of them, as if yelling in defiance.

Beorn the man smiled, his skin crackling and changing as he became an unfathomably tall man, a dark crown shining atop his head. Dark robes spilled out, dusted with specks of silver.

"Bow," the man cackled, twisting his hand.

The invisible force tugged at Gimli as he struggled against it, but in the end, all three companions were forced to bow to the man.

"Who…are…you…?" croaked out Strider.

The man pulled them forward, so that he was close enough to touch them. "The Elf knows me…"

Legolas choked. "You!" He spat, but the spit was warded off by the same invisible force.

"I have come, "the man said, "to get my revenge on Dwarf, Elf and Mankind. And you three shall do it."

"No," Strider and Legolas said, horror in their eyes.

Gimli was silent.

Mr. Bilbo was right.

Your feet could lead you straight into trouble.

Out of the fire and into the frying pan indeed.


End file.
